Page 3 of A Grinchmas Delight

“Why didn’t Mark just ask me himself?”

“I don’t know, Dayra. But, clearly you are okay. I apologize for disturbing your slumber.”

He stands there for a beat before he turns on his heel and gets into his truck. His very nice, lifted, silver Chevy. It’s an oddity parked behind my ten-year-old Kia. I watch from my doorstep, petting the top of Reese’s head as he drives away.

Something is wrong somewhere. Is Mercury in the lemonade? I make a mental note to google it tomorrow.

“Come on, sister.”

I walk back to my room and curl up in my bed. I grab my phone from the nightstand and sure enough, there are twelve missed calls and five text messages. It’s one o’clock in the morning. That fact is even more jarring to me becausewhat the fuckwas Zane doing at my door at one in the morning?

I don’t even know how he found my house. He has never been here before. He had to have gotten it from HR, and Iintend to tell them about this next week. Reese snuggles under the blanket, nestling against my leg. I pat her from on top of the blanket and open my phone to check my texts. They were all from Zane asking if I’m okay and why I’m not answering the phone.

I lock it and set it back on the nightstand, trying to give sleep another try. My head is starting to hurt the longer I’m awake and if I can just get back to sleep, I’ll be so thankful. As if Zane doesn’t torment me enough during the week, he’s now taken it upon himself to try and ruin my evenings and nights?Ugh!

I finally doze off after lying awake for another hour, thoughts of Zane plaguing my brain and making me increasingly more irritated at his absolute entitlement. I sleep for a few more hours and by the time the sun rises, I’m unable to make myself go back to sleep any longer. I get up, against my will, and fix a cup of coffee from my Keurig. Chocolate caramel coffee sits so well in my soul, no matter the season. I can’t get into the peppermint mocha, no matter how hard I try. I’ve never been a peppermint girly.

I sip my coffee in front of the television with Reese curled up in my lap until I’m forced to get myself gathered for Thanksgiving at my aunt’s house. I pull the potato salad I made yesterday morning out of the refrigerator and head out the door, kissing the top of Reese’s head and promising her I’ll be back in a little while. She disapproves but curls on my bed for her mid-morning nap anyway.

Aunt Cindy’s house is a forty-five-minute drive away and I spend all forty-five minutes dreading this holiday. Mom and Dad will be there and so will my brother and his girlfriend along with two of my cousins. It isn’t a big gathering, but it’s what we can manage. Our family cannot get through a single holiday without a mishap, and it’s usually at my expense. I learned a long time ago not to challenge my parents and their lack ofadoration toward me coupled with their abundance of adoration for my baby brother. It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted by the time I arrive from all the possible scenarios I’ve already played out in my mind. I do love going to Aunt Cindy and Uncle Ken’s though, because I spent most of my childhood weekends and summers there.

Aunt Cindy and Uncle Ken are outside when I arrive. Aunt Cindy is smoking a cigarette and Uncle Ken is drinking from a rocks glass already. I take a deep breath before I grab the potato salad and get out of my car.

“Dayra! So good to see you, honey!” Aunt Cindy greets, hugging me. She smells like coconut and cigarettes. What a combo.

“You too!”

Uncle Ken holds his arm out for a hug and I squeeze in, hugging him tight.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey Uncle Ken,” I greet warmly. Uncle Ken, no matter how much he drinks, is always the jolliest human of the family. You can’t help but smile when you see him. He’s tall and broad and just reminds you of a slimmer version of Santa Claus.

He always smells of whiskey and pipe tobacco, my favorite scent in the world. I’ve loved it so much since I was a little girl.

“Your mom and dad are inside,” Aunt Cindy says, dabbing out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“I’m headed in there now.” I grab the door and walk inside of the double-wide mobile home that they’ve lived in for the last twenty years.

Inside, my mom and dad sit on the couch in the living room watching a thanksgiving day parade on the tv.

“Dayra!” My mom chirps when she sees me. I set the potato salad down on the island in the kitchen before I go hug her and dad.

“Hey, baby. It’s been a while,” my dad comments.

“Sorry. I’ve been swamped with work and haven’t been getting out much. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No worries, Dayra. I know you’re busy. We just miss you, that’s all.”

His words bring a soft smile to my face, but I don’t believe the show that he’s putting on one bit. He and my mother have despised me for most of my life. I was never good enough for either of them, no matter how hard I tried. They think that my work is mediocre. That I should’ve gone into a much more upstanding career, like being an attorney or a doctor. One of the mainstream careers that everyone thinks of when they picture success.

I know they love me, in their own way, but I’ve never felt that love. Only heard it in their empty words. My brother, however…

Dallas comes strolling through the door, almost on cue. As if he were summoned. My parents immediately forget that I exist.

“Dallas!” My mom rises from her seat on the couch and meets him nearly at the door to hug him.

“Oh my God, I’ve missed you, my boy!” Mom’s enthusiasm doesn’t go unnoticed by Dallas. He’s always taken pity on me, and even now, at thirty years old, my little brother still feels the need to try and lessen the blow of their rejection of me.

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